This is the New Year
by MissGrizzly
Summary: [One-Shot] [Canon] Comfort often comes from unexpected places. Katie Bell finds that to be true as she struggles through her first New Year's after the war.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. All things Harry Potter belong to the endlessly talented J.K. Rowling. I'm simply playing in her sandbox, making no monetary gain at all.

 **Author's Note:** It has been a few years since I've posted a finished story. I've been writing my own fiction, straying from fan fiction for years; but the idea for this story took root, and I could not pull it from my mind. I realized when I was nearly three-quarters finished with this story, that it reads a bit like a story that I wrote several years ago. Each story involves post war comfort between the same two characters, but I feel that they're different enough to not have to worry about it. If you have Spotify, feel free to listen to "The New Year" by Death Cab for Cutie on repeat, as it was the catalyst for this story. Enjoy!

 **This is the New Year**

Morose. No other word could possibly encapsulate exactly what she felt as she stared absently across the distance of the enclosed tent. Large glass baubles stuffed to the brim with fairy lights floated delicately near the two high peaks of the cream colored silk, casting a yellowish glow over those gathered within. A dance floor of oak inlaid with a mahogany mandala stretched through the tent and slightly beyond two of the tent panels, which were tied back with golden sashes and revealed lights floating off into the distance.

She suspected that the charm which warmed the tent followed the path lights that led through the lawn and toward the trees in the distance. In her mind, the path could lead to only one place; and while it had been seven months since she had last walked the path through the woods, she could remember vividly the paddock that seemed to spring up out of nowhere in the very middle of the copse of tress. Ottery St. Catchpole lay somewhere beyond the other side of the family's estate, and she was certain the paddock would offer a spectacular view of the village's fireworks.

The last event at the paddock had offered a decidedly different atmosphere. There had been no murmur of a cheerful crowd, no clanking of crystal and no explosions in the distance. Rather, there had been a memorial for those that had lost their lives in the war. She wore an equally black dress that day and certainly felt as morose then as she did at the current moment. A spectacular light show had lit the sky over the paddock at the end of the night, glaring red and gold in the distance. Tears had glistened on the faces of her companions, and she, too, had cried for their lost friend—a light that had shone magnificently and had been snuffed out far too soon.

A hard lump formed in her throat at the thought of Fred, and her eye unconsciously sought his twin in the crowded tent. Heads of red hair were peppered regularly through the crowd, but her eyes eventually landed on George. He held a drink in one hand and the hand of Angelina Johnson in the other. She fingered the stem of her champagne flute and sighed when George rested his head on his companion's bare shoulder.

She had initially found the pairing quite odd, as Angelina had dated Fred through school and beyond; but she supposed grief did odd things to people. The two people in the world that loved Fred the best had found comfort and solace in one another's arms, and wasn't it at least beautiful that they had managed to find any comfort at all? After all, it was a need for comfort and familiarity that had made this particular party a necessity in the first place.

She couldn't remember who had first told her of the gathering. Perhaps it had been Hermione when she ran into her old housemate at Flourish and Blotts a few weeks prior, or maybe it had been Oliver when they met up at the Hog's Head with Alicia and Lee for their bi-weekly beers and banter. Her head tilted back on it's own accord as she closed her eyes and pondered. Perhaps no one had told her at all, and she had instead learned of the party via the invitation that appeared on her kitchen island one morning.

An aching yearning in her gut had her to RSVPing to the event almost immediately. She needed a return to normalcy that wasn't granted in her day to day life. Day in and day out, she sat in a lab in the bowels of St. Mungo's and brewed potions for the recovery of the victims of the war. When she wasn't working, she was volunteering for the rebuilding efforts at Hogwarts, or Hogsmeade, or Diagon Alley or anywhere really that wasn't her own flat. She never allowed herself the moment to rest, lest her mind be filled with the atrocities she and her peers had suffered at the hands of dark men. She was willing to do anything and everything to have her life of old returned to her, even if it meant she remained in a state of mental and physical exhaustion.

"What happened to the girl that wanted to ride broomsticks and explore the world with her best friends?" She had wondered as she dressed for the party earlier that evening.

A strapless peplum dress clung to her curves, and she relished the fact that her figure had returned at all after the trauma her body had been forced through over the past three years. The deep v at the front of the dress revealed a silvery white scar that stretched from her left shoulder, through the valley of her breasts, and down to her navel—a gift from Antonin Dolohov before he had murdered Remus Lupin and had been repaid in kind by Professor Flitwick. It was her daily reminder that she was lucky to have survived the war at all. An ornate opal and gold necklace hung heavily around her neck; and while Leanne found it heinously inappropriate, Katie felt she owed herself that reminder as well—that she should be more thankful for her life, as she had almost lost it twice in as many years. She was fortunate where others had not been.

Her green eyes had traced the length of the mirror and stared at the gold shoes that sparkled on her feet ostentatiously. One of her favorite parts of her parents' New Year's parties had been her muggle relatives' affinity for sequined or bejeweled clothing items for the occasion. "Perhaps they're too much," she thought as her fingers smoothed down her her hair into a knotted chignon at the nape of her neck. "Bullocks, what would it matter anyway?"

Katie came to from her reverie at the sound of shouting in the distance. "Twenty minutes to the new year!" A man was shouting boisterously, and she found herself wondering how differently she might feel in twenty minutes time.

As the evening had marched on, more and more people had appeared on the baroque floor of the tent. Some she recognized, most she did not, but she recognized the same quality in all of them that she should have felt herself. It was there, reflected in their faces as they spotted friends, family members and ex-classmates. It was blatant relief that these people had survived and were thriving in postwar wizarding Britain. She threw the remainder of her champagne back quickly and began to weave her way through the suffocating crowd.

Her hand fluttered delicately over Angelina's shoulder as she passed, and their eyes met briefly. Katie's smile said all she needed it to to her old friend. "I'm happy for you," it whispered from where it ghosted across her lips, and Angelina's slightly inclined head seemed to respond, "I know; thank you." Katie turned from her friend and walked quickly to the exit of the tent.

The crispness of a late December evening should have touched her body; but she was pleased to find that her earlier assumption had been correct. The magic of the heating charm did stretch beyond the boundaries of the tent. She stood just beyond the entrance of the tent, mentally steeling herself for the onslaught of memories that would undoubtedly follow her down the trail and onto the lawn of the paddock. Fingernails dug into the sensitive flesh of her palms, and she knew crescent shaped divots would be found there once she unclenched her fists.

Katie startled at a voice speaking from behind her. "Headed toward the paddock, love?"

She turned her head as the man moved to stand beside her. Her body followed her head, and she took a half step backward from the overstepping man. The lights floating along the path dimly illuminated the man's face, hiding his eyes in shadow but not managing to conceal his coppery red hair from her searching eyes. "A Weasley then," she thought as she took in his appearance.

He was only a few inches taller than she was in her heels, 5'11" at most and rather on the short side for a Weasley man. What he lacked in height, however, he made up for in breadth. His shoulders were broad, and the corded muscles of his neck peeked out from the unbuttoned collar of his white dress shirt. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled halfway up his forearms revealing heavily scarred arms and a tattoo that stretched from his right forearm toward his wrist. Her consideration of the art stopped there as his hands were shoved casually into the pockets of his pinstriped slacks. His appearance screamed of familiarity with muggles, and she briefly considered which branch of the Weasley family he had been born to as her experiences with her Weasleys indicated the opposite.

"I am headed toward the paddock," Katie said, remembering herself. "I have an affinity for muggle traditions, I fear, and I love New Year's fireworks."

He nodded resolutely, as if in understanding and agreement. "This is the first New Year's I've spent in England in several years. I was certainly disappointed to miss the fireworks at home, so I'm glad Hermione thought to include the paddock in her plans. Would you mind company on the walk?"

She shrugged and indicated to the path stretching before them. The man took off at a leisurely pace, and Katie found herself struggling to catch up. The heels of her shoes stuck in the soft earth beneath her feet with each step. "Hold up!" She called after a moment. The man was easily twenty paces ahead of her and not slowing down for his companion.

He turned with a crooked grin, and Katie found herself appreciating her unexpected escort for the evening. He had asked to join her in her stroll to the paddock but hadn't waited to walk beside her like some archaic knight in shining armor. His shoulders slumped forward slightly, and the half-smile on his face seemed as if it could be traded for a contemplative frown at any moment. He was clearly as lost in his thoughts at the moment as she was.

Katie slipped off her heels and raced toward her compatriot. He seemed to her a kindred spirit, and she found herself longing for a walk in companionable silence with him. He was as much an enigma to her as surely she was to him, and she felt herself drawn to him.

They, indeed, walked in companionable silence. As they walked, Katie listened. Not to the man beside her, per se, as he hadn't said a word. Rather she listened to the rustling of leaves tumbling over the soft ground, to the wind whistling through the naked trees, to the water of the hot springs bubbling almost cheerfully, and finally to the man's breathing. It quickened as they approached the paddock, and sounded labored at best as he jumped the fence in one quick motion.

Katie rolled her eyes. A gate to the paddock was less than twenty meters away, and the man chose to jump the fence in what seemed to be a remembered motion. Not to be outdone, she dropped her shoes over the fence and began to climb. She had just swung her leg over the top railing, only pausing momentarily to wonder whether she had flashed her lacy knickers at the stranger, when she heard his rumbling laughter from behind her.

"There's a gate twenty meters on, love," he said while offering her a hand to assist in her descent. She threw the other leg over the rail, sincerely hoping that he had the decency to look elsewhere as she had definitely flashed knickers that time, and dropped to the ground without accepting his assistance. He chuckled and shook his head.

Katie reached for her shoes and silently thanked Hermione for only dimly lighting the paddock—she was certain from the heat in her cheeks that her face was at least a deep shade of maroon. She moved toward the middle of the paddock where a stack of neatly folded blankets awaited an audience for the fireworks. As of yet, Katie and her mystery man were the only two beings in the field.

She picked a plush blanket from the pile and spread it out before looking for her red haired companion. He stood leaning against the fence, his arms crossed over his chest and his head angled toward the sky, where a brilliant near full moon hung heavily amongst countless pinpricks of stars in an indigo backdrop. His eyes were closed, and his brows furrowed deeply as he mumbled to himself. Katie turned away, allowing him privacy in a moment he surely hadn't expected to share.

She laid herself gently on the blanket, adjusting her dress as she went, hoping not to share anymore of herself with the handsome stranger than she already had. She stared at the moon hanging above, neither affected or moved by the actions and reactions of the infinitesimal beings inhabiting its planet below. She felt small, she realized. Insignificant. And if she didn't matter, did the lives of those lost in the war matter either?

"Of course they did!" She scolded herself silently. Heat raced though her body fervently, and it took her a moment to recognize the feeling of shame burning her from within. Every life lost mattered. The names of those lost began to tumble through trembling lips.

"Charity Burbage. Florean Fortescue. Ted Tonks. Amelia Bones. Emmeline Vance. Lavender Brown. Sirius Black. Alastor Moody. Colin Creevy. Rufus Scrimgeour."

"What are you doing?" The stranger asked as he laid next to her. The heat of his body next to her own startled her, and she wrapped her arms around her middle after scooting away from him toward the edge of the blanket.

"Remembering," she stated simply.

"Hmmm."

"Albus Dumbledore. Nymphadora Tonks. Bathilda Bagshot. Dirk Cresswell. Remus Lupin. Severus Snape. Padma Patil." Her breath caught in her throat, and she swallowed against the hard lump there. Hot tears leaked from her eyes and raced down the side of her face toward her ears, as tears often do when one cries awkwardly while lying down.

"Fred Weasley," she choked out as explosions rocketed in the distance. Tears continued to well in her eyes, blurring the fireworks into smeared explosions of orange, green, white, blue and purple. Her heart stuttered in her chest at the realization that the muggle town had omitted fireworks of red and gold from their display. She closed her eyes against the explosions in the sky and sobbed.

Calloused fingers gently stroked the tears from her face, and chocolatey brown eyes stared down at her. The eyes were so much like Fred's and George's that she finally realized who was staring down at her, comforting her the best he could. She hadn't seen Charlie since she was a girl, and she chided herself for forgetting his face.

"You loved him," Charlie said simply.

Katie reached up to touch Charlie's hands, stilling them on her face. "Not like that," she said with a shaky laugh. "Never like Angelina or George. He was my housemate, my teammate; my friend. I could have bloody killed him when Ron gave me a bloody nose at practice and he nearly caused my exsanguination by giving me the wrong bloody end of a Nose Bleed Nougat.

"Oh, but did I love him, Charlie. George, too, like a set of older brothers that I never wanted but were forced upon me. Of course I loved him; he was our light, and we lost him. How in the hell is that fair?"

Charlie disentangled himself from Katie and laid back onto the blanket with a heavy sigh. Silence engulfed the pair. "It does seem odd, doesn't it?" He finally asked after a few moments more of silence.

"What does?"

"That so many amazing witches and wizards were stolen from us before their time; and yet we sit here, ringing in the new year. We're at a party where we're supposed to be surrounded by the ones we love, relived that we're all alive and surviving the best we can after the war.

"How are we supposed to celebrate a new year when we've left so many behind in the past? How it it fair that I've risked my life for years unnecessarily but now Teddy Lupin doesn't have a family because of a goddamn maniac that let loose on our society with his twisted views?

"How can I feel any differently? How can I be relieved and glad to see those faces in that tent when the faces I want to see the most aren't here anymore?"

The pair sank into silence once more, staring morosely at the night sky. The fireworks had faded, leaving behind the smell of sulfur and a tinge of blue-gray haze in front of the moon. Katie reached for Charlie's hand, entwining their fingers and squeezing gently once she found it.

"I didn't mean to upset you, Charlie."

"Nor I you…" He trailed off.

She chuckled. How odd it must have been for a witch he didn't know to be calling him by his name. "Katie," she supplied shortly.

"Bell?"

"Mm-hmm."

"That necklace is in awfully poor taste," was his simple reply, and they laughed. For the absurdity of it all. For their friends. For their loved ones. For the realization that the new year didn't feel any differently than the old. For the fact that they found each other at a ridiculous party when they most needed the cathartic release their meeting had provided.

Gently, Charlie extracted his fingers from Katie's. He stood, stretching his arms far above his head. He held out a strong hand for her, and she shook her head with a small, sad smile.

"You go ahead," the smile read, and he nodded. Katie closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She listened carefully to the sounds of Charlie leaving the paddock; the rustle of leaves beneath his feet, the groaning of aged wood beneath his hands and the tell tale grunt that accompanied him jumping the fence. A few minutes of silence filled the space around her before she opened her eyes.

Morose. The word, the feeling that had encapsulated her state of being the previous year… Well, it still fit honestly. She supposed time would heal her wounds, but she found herself wondering how much time would pass, how many new years would feel exactly the same, before she felt any better.

Sluggish fingers snaked their way toward her neck, and her fingers tingled when they touched the necklace as if they remembered the feeling of touching this necklace's dark twin. Her fingers curled, and the gold chain dug deeply into the flesh at the back of her neck. A frustrated grunt accompanied the sound of the snapping chain, and Katie flung the necklace across the empty paddock for both everyone and no one to see. Step one.


End file.
